


(bio)luminescence

by tomorrowisforeverallours



Category: Easy Allies RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Cliches abound, Flirting, I Don't Know Anything About Sailing, Other, Trans Female Character, must be hard being a horny pirate on a ship, slight misgendering/deadnaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 04:25:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowisforeverallours/pseuds/tomorrowisforeverallours
Summary: She has tucked herself away near the buffet -- a good place to be -- and keeps to herself, which makes him all the more curious. Her sky blue dress is not the most elaborate or dazzling on the ballroom floor, but it complements her coloring nicely and was clearly tailored with love. And when her eyes meet his behind the mask, they are not vacuous or self-conscious; there is an intelligence to her gaze that takes him by surprise.Brandon grins and makes a beeline for her. May as well indulge myself with some decent company while I can.





	(bio)luminescence

**Author's Note:**

> hello, and welcome to the "bonni drops random fantasy au and leaves" podcast
> 
> this may garner sequels in the future!

 

    Night closes its iron fist around the world, and Brandon Jones welcomes it. 

    The outskirts of the city he walks are quiet, dimly lit, as the currents direct as much Lux as they can spare to the grand palace. Peasants murmur eagerly to each other as he passes, whispering of who he is and where he's come from and what he is to do. He takes little notice, save to give those who meet his eye a jaunty grin. 

    The game has just begun and there is no time to waste. The first step is looking the part, so he's donned a set of exquisite navy blue robes (the bloodstains have finally come out, after a great deal of scrubbing with lye) and a gem-encrusted mask to match. 

    The disguise is so effective that he doesn't need the forged invitation they'd made; a cursory glance is all it takes to convince the guards he must belong there. 

     _Kyle will be upset that he went through all that trouble for nothing,_ Jones smirks as he strolls through the ballroom doors. _Oh well. There's always the next heist._

    The hall is lit up brilliantly by Luxcristals mounted in sconces lining the walls. Brandon's eye is caught immediately by the chandelier and the intricately carved Luxcristal it suspends, bigger than his head and glowing a fiery yellow-gold with all the energy it has stored from the sun. 

   _Now that would be a spectacular target,_ Brandon muses, _if I could get it out without getting caught. Kind of hard to hide that size rock in your robes._

    He weaves in and out of the crowd, "casing the joint" as one of his mates would call it, although most of Huber's vocabulary consists of made-up phrases that have no real meaning in their occupation. Security is relatively heightened but of no real consequence; exits are plainly marked and easily reachable if he can navigate the crowd in a timely manner. Baron Carnelius is strutting about like he owns the whole damn city, flocked by any lord and lady that thinks flattering him will get them a better position or an offer for their hand in marriage. Most importantly, though, the Baron's servants are all out in the open, which means the dungeons will be empty. 

     _No good to go straight there, though - better blend in._

    The first step to blending in is finding a dance partner. Brandon folds himself into the crowd, taking a flute of champagne to sip from; he feels eyes on him and hears the curious whispers of ladies who do not recognize him, all too nervous to be the one to ask him to dance. He smirks, but all too quickly a woman makes him take pause. 

    She has tucked herself away near the buffet -- _a good place to be_ \-- and keeps to herself, which makes him all the more curious. Her sky blue dress is not the most elaborate or dazzling on the ballroom floor, but it complements her coloring nicely and was clearly tailored with love. And when her eyes meet his behind the mask, they are not vacuous or self-conscious; there is an intelligence to her gaze that takes him by surprise. 

    Brandon grins and makes a beeline for her. _May as well indulge myself with some decent company while I can._

    The woman watches him approach with wary eyes. Brandon swoops into a low bow, the formalities coming back to him. "My lady, may I have this dance?" 

    When he straightens up, she is still watching him, her hair falling around her face in gentle waves. "May I ask what draws you to ask me, handsome stranger, to dance when you could enjoy the company of any lovely lady in the room?" 

    Brandon smiles. "Because I could tell at a glance that you can actually hold a conversation." 

    Her eyes light up. "Fair enough. Lead the way." And she takes his arm, allowing herself to be swept onto the dance floor amidst a flurry of other couples. 

    The dance is meant to be an excuse for Brandon to survey the room while avoiding suspicion, but he finds himself interested in his dance partner more than anything. Her gaze flits continuously down to her feet and she holds herself as stiff as a fencer waiting to riposte; Brandon gets the sense that however much she has practiced, it has never been in such a setting. 

    He chuckles and pulls her a little closer, reveling in her gasp and the softness of her dress against his touch. _Wow, it's been a while. Wish I had more time tonight._  "Relax. It's not as complicated as it seems. And by the Goddess, woman, let me lead." 

    She scowls, but relaxes as Brandon eases them into a waltz. "So, then, mysterious stranger who was just _dying_ to ask me to dance, what name do you go by?"

     _Interesting choice of words._  He cannot very well state the name that the world knows him by -- Finn Bloodletter is a bit of an international criminal -- so he decides honesty can't hurt. "Brandon. And yourself, milady?" 

    "Call me Lailia. No 'Lord' or 'Duke' to grace your name, Sir Brandon?" 

    "I'm afraid not; I simply have... connections. And yourself, Miss Lailia?" He asks, not missing the wince that flashes across her lips. 

    "No title that I wish to be acknowledged by," she responds simply. 

    "Hmm. Fair enough. What do you think of the Baron's show of wealth? Quite an abundance of Luxcristals he's got hanging around." Brandon doesn't quite manage to keep his disdain out of his voice, but Lailia seems to have similar feelings about the gross display of extravagance that they are party to. The two of them watch the Baron brown-nosing Duke Hinck, who seems to want nothing to do with it. _Isn't he the one whose son disappeared? Unfortunate man._

    "It's rather disgusting, really," she says lowly, her frankness a pleasant surprise. "He's just showing off to flatter the Ministers so they'll forgive him for all the tax evasion he was caught doing. And I'm sure it'll work. I'm only here because I have nothing else to do with myself -- well, anyway." She cuts herself off, perhaps at a timely moment: from the second floor balcony there echoes a cacophony of horns and the voice of a herald announcing the Baron's welcoming speech. 

   _Well, that's my cue._ Brandon pulls away from Miss Lailia, pasting an apologetic look on his face at the breaking of decorum. _Shame to have to leave such a lovely lady so soon._  "I'm afraid I need some fresh air," he says, missing her skepticism. "If you'll excuse me, my dear?"

    "Um, sure." 

    Brandon leaves without another word, mind now preoccupied by the task at hand. While the Baron begins to crow (rather ironically) about the high caliber of his guests, Brandon weaves his way to the edge of the crowd and slips through a door near the kitchens with ease. 

    He traces his path through the servants' corridors as easily as though he lives there. _That map Blood procured was accurate after all._  Quickly enough, he finds himself down in the dungeons, picking with dexterous fingers the lock to his destination. 

_Jackpot._

    Closing the door behind him, Brandon turns to survey the Baron's treasure horde with a triumphant grin. Though he longs to empty the room of all its valuables and leave the Baron with quite a shock, he has only one target. (Though he pockets as much gold Luxim as he can manage.) 

    On a display stand on the wall rests the loveliest sword Brandon has ever set eyes upon. The blade is gilded with a thin layer of gold and edged with Luxcristal, which sparkles in the faint light from the hall. It must have taken a remarkable smith to forge, seeing as Luxcristal has a tendency to crack easily. At full charge, Brandon imagines it would glow brilliantly and slice through foes like butter, but having been sequestered in the dark means for now it is an ordinary sword. 

    "Come here, darling," Brandon coos as he gently lifts the sword from its hooks.  _Damn. Wish I could keep it._ He tests its heft and -- 

    "Just what do you think you're doing, sir Brandon?" 

    -- nearly impales Lailia with it as he whips around. She yelps and stumbles backwards, and the two stare at each other with wide eyes. 

     _Goddess damn her._

    "What do you want?" Brandon hisses, mind racing.  _Was I that obvious?_

    Lailia scowls, hands on hips, seemingly unafraid of him now that he's lowered the sword. "I could ask you the same thing. You know, I don't like the man either, but I certainly wasn't conspiring to steal the Solsong from him." 

    Brandon can almost hear Bloodworth's voice in his head. _Eliminate all witnesses, Jones._ The sword in his grip screams for blood, and usually he would have no qualms about cutting someone down, but Lailia glares at him with those bright blue eyes, and she isn't expecting him to attack her which would make it all the easier, but -- 

    He takes a deep breath. "Look," he says, while Lailia's withering glare saps at his resolve. "You need to leave now. Pretend you never saw anything." 

    "Or what?"

     _Maybe I can scare her off._  "Or I'll have to do something I'll regret," Brandon threatens, raising the sword.  Her eyes widen and she steps back, but then they both hear voices in the hallway and freeze. 

     _Just my luck._ "You were followed?" Brandon hisses incredulously.

    "No! At least, I didn't think so," Lailia retorts. She steps closer to him and Brandon marvels at her unspoken trust in him even though he'd raised a weapon against her just moments before. She doesn't call out to the guards, either -- it's as though she doesn't actually want him to get caught. "What do we do?"

    "There is no 'we.'" Brandon rummages around in his pockets for the grenade Huber had fashioned for him out of a bundle of matches and a bit of Luxcristal. With that in hand and the Solsong slung on his hip, he moves towards the back of the room to make his escape.

    Lailia trails after him indignantly. "You're just leaving? You got me into this mess, you'd better get me out of it!"

    "You're the one that followed me!" 

    "Yeah, well -" 

    There is a commotion outside the door, someone obviously hearing their spat. Brandon swears, grabs Lailia around the neck hostage-style, and throws the grenade at the back wall. 

    He ducks as the explosion makes the air tremble and burst with heat; stone shrapnel flies in all directions, some catching him in the back. Brandon winces, but keeps backing up towards the now-gaping hole in the wall, keeping a tight grip on the protesting woman.

    Bursting through the door comes two servants, skidding to a halt and staring wide-eyed at them. "Ah-you- _thieves! Guards!_ " 

    "H-Hey, I'm not with him! I can explain!"

    Lailia struggles, but one of the servants squints at her and exclaims, "You're the girl that didn't have a proper invitation! So you're his accomplice, then!" The other servant gasps, staring at Brandon in terror.

   _Can't kill her. Can't leave her to their mercy, they'll kill her for being with me. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Damn it._  Brandon thinks fast. From another pocket he withdraws a syringe of tranquilizer, carefully measured to knock out a grown man; hopefully it won't be too much for her. "Sorry, darling," he murmurs, poking her in the neck and depressing the plunger just enough to hopefully not kill her. 

    "Ah-ow-hey!" 

    She struggles against him, and the servants start into the room, but Brandon holds the sword to her neck and they hesitate. 

    "We're going to run," Brandon instructs, guiding them both backwards. 

    Lailia sputters. "I'm not going anywhere with you!" 

    "You are if you want to live. Now, run!" Brandon spins them around and shoves her forward, dragging her into a run. She stumbles but has no choice but to follow him, cursing him all the while, as they are quickly pursued by the Baron's guard. He's almost amused. 

    They lose the guards at some point (with the help of a great deal of barrels falling over in the street), just as Lailia's strength begins to flag. He's tucked against an alley wall, peeking out into the street to check for guards, when he hears his name in a tremulous voice and turns just in time to catch her as her legs give out. 

    "Finally calmed down, huh?" Brandon says, a little amused at the way she's still trying to glare at him. 

    "I hate you so much," she murmurs, just before she slumps lifelessly into his arms. 

     _Sleep well, sweet summer child._  Brandon huffs out a laugh, scoops her up in his arms, and is on the move once again.

* * *

 

    "About damn time you showed up," snaps Brad when Brandon finally meets him at the docks, waiting to pull up the gangplank and weigh anchor so they can escape. The _Jolly Rufus_  is already warmed up, his Lux-powered engine charged enough to get them out into international waters, where they can drop the sails. "Who the hell is that?" 

    "Just take her," Brandon wheezes, his knees giving out as he passes Lailia's unconscious body to Brad. His muscles are on fire - _Goddess, if I'd known she was so heavy I wouldn't have drugged her_  - and he collapses on the deck, letting his crew bustle around him and prepare for their getaway while he struggles to catch his breath. 

    A grinning face pokes into his overhead view. "Did it work?" Huber asks eagerly, ash smeared across his cheeks. "I wasn't sure if the match would do it - I know that it splinters easily but I wasn't sure if that would be enough heat - "

    _Can I have a minute to breathe here, mate?_  Brandon cuts him off, waving a sore arm at Huber. "Yeah, yeah. It worked great. Now gimme some space." 

    "Okay, Capt'n!" Huber chirps amiably, backing out of his line of sight. Brandon just stares at the midnight sky until his vision sharpens enough to pick out individual stars, before forcing himself to sit up against the will of every single muscle in his body. 

    For some reason, most of the crew is gathered around him, and Brandon gives them all a sharp look. "Well, what are you waiting for? Weigh anchor!" 

    "Aye aye, Captain!"

    The crowd disperses in a flurry of movement and shouting as they prepare to get underway. Ben gives him a relieved wave from the helm as with a loud roar, the  _Jolly Rufus'_  engine comes to life and begins to propel them away from the dock. The air fills with a euphony of practiced chanting as the crew begins to unfurl the sails, one at a time, and Brandon feels like he can finally breathe. 

    He pulls off his mask and delights in the cool night air on his cheeks. Lailia's mask had slipped down in their escape, as well, and he takes a moment to take in the woman's delicate features, like the edge of a perfectly sharpened dagger. 

    "Is she still breathing?" he asks. 

    "You mean she might _not_ be?" Brad casts him an incredulous look, but obediently leans down to check. "...yeah, she's fine." 

    Brandon lets out a whistle of relief. "Good." 

    "Again, who is this?" 

    "There may have been a... witness," Brandon blusters. His first mate just stares. "I had to blend in, okay! So I found a dance partner. Not my fault she followed me down." 

    "So out of all the women you could've chosen to dance with, you just _happen_ to pick one that's observant enough to catch you in the act?" 

    "... she's really pretty, okay," mumbles Brandon sheepishly. "But hey. I don't have to take shit from the man who's been in love with the navigator for months - " 

    " _Hey!_  At least I don't jeopardize jobs because of it!" 

    "Except that one time." 

    "That - that was different," Brad says, averting his gaze. 

    Brandon softens. "Yeah, it was," he agrees. "Look, she's here now. We can drop her off when we dock and she can claim she was abducted or whatever." 

    "So what, you want me to toss her in the brig?"

    Brandon winces. "No, just put her up in the sick bay. Have someone keep guard and come get me when she wakes up. I'm going to catch some shuteye." He drags himself to his feet, chuckling at the sight of Brad struggling with Lailia. "Oh, and Brad?" 

    "Ugh- aye?"

    Brandon flashes the Solsong out of its scabbard and grins. "Make way for Cold Blooded Cove." 

* * *

 

    Brandon's not sure when he wakes up, but he sure as hell knows _why_. In his half-asleep state, he's convinced that the ship is under attack and springs half-naked out of bed, scrambling for his sword before his ears register the source of the shouting outside his door. 

    "Let me  _at_ him!"

    "Oi! That  _hurt,_  woman!"

    "Good! It was supposed to! I swear, Brandon, if that even is your name -"

    "It actually is," says Brandon mildly, opening the door. A furious Lailia greets him, half-restrained by one of his mates, who lets her go with a yelp as she stomps on his foot again. 

    "Sorry, Cap'n, she got away from me," says the man, looking pained. 

    "It's alright, I know how she is," Brandon says, stepping out of his cabin. He squints against the midday sun, pleased to find no land in sight, nor any pursuers. 

    It happens to be the wrong thing to say.  _Though there probably isn't any right thing to say,_ Brandon muses, gasping as Lailia's physical assault is turned upon him and she virtually herds him onto the deck. "Oh, sure you do," she says acidly. "Tell me, do you drug and kidnap every girl you meet?"

    "Ow! Only the ornery brunette ones," Brandon retorts, trying to block her punches. She has a surprisingly strong arm. Lailia's glare is as fiery as the Luxcristals that gleam on the edge of Solsong now that it is charging by sunlight. "Ow! It was a joke!"

    "Not funny! Where the hell are we?"

    "Somewhere off the coast."

    "Take me back!"

    "No can do," says Brandon, frowning. "Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't want to get you involved."

    "Oh, so that's why you kidnapped me. Obviously it was because you  _didn't want me involved._ "

     _She is infuriating._  " I did that," Brandon grits his teeth, "so you wouldn't get thrown in prison for helping me. And now you have an alibi when you get back. We'll let you go free when we dock - I'll even help you get back to the city - and you can go tell everyone you got abducted and you'll be off the hook." 

    "Yeah, like that'll work," Lailia scoffs, shoving him again. They've begun to attract a crowd, and Brandon really can't have her challenging him in front of his crew, so the next time she lashes out he grabs her wrists and pins them to his chest. 

    "Look, you need to calm down, or I  _will_ tranquilize you again," he threatens.

    She gives him the fiercest glare imaginable. "And who's asking, huh?"

    Brandon admires her gall, and returns her glare. "Does the name Finn Bloodletter ring a bell? You wanna make a guess about what ship you're on?" 

    Lailia growls, but Brandon sees a flicker of fear in her eyes.  _Good. Maybe she'll stop being such a nuisance if she thinks I'm going to hurt her._  "Are you going to calm down now?" He asks smugly, waiting for her to cave, which makes her renewed willingness to resist almost commendable. 

    "You wish," Lailia spits, and Brandon's handle on her slips when she sweeps his feet out from under him in a move out of someone's professional combat repertoire. He lets out a string of colorful language as he falls, countered by his crew's laughter as Lailia darts away. 

    When he recovers, he finds her scrambling up the mainmast with abandon.  _She's trying to fall and die now, isn't she?_  He peers up at her surprisingly agile climbing, chivalrously ignoring the view up her skirts. 

    "And just where do you think you're going?"

    "As far away from you as I can get!"

    Somehow she makes it up to the crow's nest, where Bosman keeps lookout; Brandon catches a whisper of his surprise on the wind.

     _Troublesome woman._  "Get back down here," he sighs.

    Lailia leans dangerously over the edge of her haven, and has the audacity to stick her tongue out at him. "Too late, we're best friends now!" She taunts childishly. "Isn't that right, what's your name?"

    "Um, Kyle. What's going on...?"

    "Miss Lailia is being _stubborn,_ " Brandon growls, riled up despite him. He knows that he shouldn't let her defiance get to him, but there's just something about her behavior that vexes him. _I was just trying to help you._  "Fine. You can stay up there until we dock, for all I care!" 

    "Maybe I will!" 

    "Fine!"

    _"Fine!"_

    Brandon huffs and storms away before he gets reckless in his anger. _I need at least another four hours of sleep before I'm willing to put up with this._ There are still crew members standing around watching him amusedly, but they scatter from a single look. 

    Brad approaches him, mutely holding out his ration of ale. Brandon takes it gratefully, glaring daggers up at the crow's nest as he downs it. "I've never seen a woman get under your skin like that, Capt'n. Is there something we should know about?"

    "Shut it, Ellis." 

* * *

 

    To his surprise, Lailia manages to keep her promise for longer than the day he'd estimated. Brandon's sure that she's slipping down to use the head at night, but somehow she's coerced Bosman into letting her remain in his space, as well as bringing her food on occasion. Brandon sees that guilty look in his eyes every time he scrambles back up the mast.  

    (Brandon considers it, but he doesn't stop him. _Wouldn't do for her to starve, anyway. Though maybe it would bolster her alibi._ )

    So in the crow's nest she remains, being an utmost nuisance. Brandon tries to ignore her as best he can, but it's hard when she's constantly shouting down at his men and trying to carry on one-sided conversations. Or grilling people about their destination, which is _none_ of her business. Most of them regard her with disdain, but she manages to strike up something like a friendship with Huber, which he should have expected, and he catches Ben chatting with her once or twice.

    (Brandon doesn't crack down on that, either. _It's sort of nice to hear the voice of a woman again, bad luck_ be _damned.)_

    She's as stubborn as an old mare, so it almost doesn't surprise him that she lasts until it starts to rain. It drifts in on the fog and lingers, a cold drizzle that settles into everyone's bones and has indisposition spreading through his ranks. Distracted as he is by the complications that arise every time it rains, Brandon barely notices the lack of Lailia's familiar shenanigans. It's only when he greets Kyle in passing that he's struck by the silence that has settled upon the deck. 

    "Hey," he starts, glancing upward. Through the rain and fog, he can barely see the silhouette of her hair.  "She still up there?" 

    Kyle attempts to dry his glasses on his shirt; judging by his irritated expression, he is unsuccessful. "Yeah. Can't get her to come down. I keep telling her she's going to get sick and die up there, but she's stubborn. What should I do?" 

    _We don't really have any options._  Brandon shrugs. "Leave her, then," he says. Kyle's eyes go wide. "A woman like her? You won't get her to do anything she doesn't want you to, and the Goddess will strike us down if we try otherwise. She'll learn quickly, don't worry." 

    Kyle frowns, that familiar crease settling between his brows. "And if she gets sick?"

    "Then she gets sick. She'll learn her lesson," Brandon says, though he's a little guilty at the thought. His lookout gives him that perplexed frown again, but heads below-deck to take lunch, leaving Lailia to her own devices.

    By the third day Brandon is running out of dry outfits and wondering what he'll have to do to appease the Goddess this time. He's already tossed all the food they can afford to sacrifice overboard for her, so he mostly just hopes that they'll complete the journey without wrecking. He's seen no sign of Lailia having capitulated and gone below deck, stubborn woman that she is, but the time comes. He's at the helm, guiding them into the wind at an angle, when a presence approaches and there's a meek tug at his coat. 

    They're both drenched, but Lailia's clearly taken the brunt of it up in the crow's nest. _Probably best she stayed up there most of the time; I'm surprised she didn't slip and die_ trying _to get down._  Her hair and dress are both plastered to her, and she trembles like the last leaf on an already-dead branch, but that defiant glint has never left her eyes. 

    "Tell Bosman it's his turn to take watch," she says. 

    A laugh bubbles out of Brandon without his consent, and his attitude softens. "I think we'll manage without one for the time being," he says, acknowledging her descent for what it is: a subtle admittance of vulnerability.  _She looks like a drowned rat, but a nice one._ He beckons to a mate and tells him to find Brad so he can leave his post - nearly his shift anyway. 

    Brad is clearly dismayed at being summoned from the refuge of the forecastle; he rolls his eyes upon seeing Lailia beside him. "Oh, she's alive. Don't get too rowdy warming yourselves up, or the Goddess'll strike us down yet." 

    Brandon scowls and refuses to deign that with an answer, wrapping an arm around her. "I'll be back to relieve you - I just want to make sure this one doesn't get pneumonia." 

    "Probably too late," Lailia quips weakly as Brandon steers her towards his cabin with a solid hand. He can feel how violently she shivers, despite her obvious attempts to prevent it. _I feel... just a little sorry for her._  He lets her into his cabin, lit by the dying flicker of a Luxlantern he hadn't gotten to charge before the sun had fled. Brandon sighs and lights an oil lamp instead, watching the natural light flicker across Lailia's features. 

    "Don't sit down anywhere," he instructs as he starts to dig through his chest of drawers. "I don't tend to hold onto dresses, unfortunately, so a man's habit will have to do. I hope it won't offend your feminine sensibilities." 

    "Oh, I've got none of those, but thanks for your concern," says Lailia with a laugh. 

    Brandon hands her the dry clothes and turns his back like a proper gentleman; a flush comes to his cheeks as he hears the rustling of clothing, but Lailia carries on the conversation as if she isn't stripping down behind him. "Thanks for the clothes, anyway. And not just killing me back in the city. Or tossing me overboard. I shouldn't _really_ have to thank you for that, but it's a surprising move given your dread pirate status."

    "I prefer treasure hunter," says Brandon, confident in this one thing. "Most of our operations are to fulfill bounties from various buyers, or to distribute Luxim to more impoverished areas. We live well, don't get me wrong, but you won't find me burying treasure on some abandoned island."

    "No? Damn. And here I was, about to seduce the location of your life savings out of you," hums Lailia.

    A spark of interest runs down Brandon's spine. what to say to that? He lets out an awkward laugh. "You could try."

    Lailia hums again, her shoes clicking on the wood floor, which Brandon takes as a sign that it's safe to turn around. He is struck dumb by how _goddamn good_ she looks in his clothes, and stubbornly tries to ignore it.

    She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Do you _want_ me to?"

     _No comment._ Brandon crosses the cabin and grabs a towel to toss at her. "Dry off. You're still freezing, aren't you?" he changes the subject, mindful of her continued shivering.

    She sneezes, as if on cue.

    "Right," says Brandon amusedly. "You can stay in here and warm up, if you'd like. I wouldn't subject you to staying down in the hold with my men. Just don't break anything. Or steal anything. Or touch anything, really."

    He's not sure what drives him to open his space to her, but it feels right. It's Brandon's fault that she's here in the first place, after all. He'll take up a hammock for a couple of days, if need be; a woman deserves her privacy.

    "Oh," says Lailia. "Well, thanks, Brandon. Can I still call you that?"

    "Please do," says Brandon.

    Their eyes meet and Brandon finds it a struggle to pull away. Lailia's gaze pulls him in, a whirlpool of blue that Brandon can all-too-easily see himself drowning in, and it scares him.

    "Well, I'll go now," he says hurriedly, turning. "Got to relieve Brad, after all. Don't ruin anything. Please."

    Lailia watches him, but thankfully doesn't call him out on his cowardice. _Is that what it is? What am I scared of?_

    "No promises."

* * *

 

    He returns after his shift to find her half-buried in the covers of his bed, caramel hair a halo on his pillow, a book on sirens tented next to her.

    Brandon sighs, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing, punctuated by the occasional cough. _Curse the Goddess. She wants me to go soft now, does she? You don't need to remind me how much I miss the comfort of a woman. But I can't have her. We're docking and she's leaving and that's the end of that._

    He closes the cabin door ( _gently now, don't wake her up_ ) and turns to find the rain has stopped. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, as though laughing at its own inside joke.

* * *

  Cold Blooded Cove is, well... cold.

    They've passed through the Strait of Chim into the Northern Sea, which unofficially marks the border into more dangerous waters. Summer still warms their bones, but the breeze threatens to steal it away every time he goes out on deck. Brandon will be all too ready to sail south again.

    But first, they've got to deliver the Solsong to his contact, which _also_ entails solving the problem of Lailia once and for all.

    She's embraced her status as a transient on the _Rufus_ since reconciling with Brandon (and getting over her short bout of illness). He tries not to find it too pleasing.

    It's hard, though, when he sees her strolling up and down the quarterdeck like she belongs there, or chatting with Ben and Huber over hardtack like they're childhood friends, or watching him hoist the sails with that Luxlight smile of hers.

    Brandon doesn't know how to treat her. She's too impertinent and eager to help out to be respected as a traditional guest, and yet he refuses to treat her as an honorary mate and give her orders. And she's a woman, to boot - half of his men insist they should've tossed her ashore the first chance they could. The other half are much too friendly with her for Brandon's liking.

     _It doesn't help that she won't stop flirting with me,_ Brandon thinks wryly, watching her climb the rigging with all the dexterity of a seasoned sailor and pause to wave at him. He isn't the type of man to fluster and fumble when a woman makes the first move - he actually prefers it - but it's hard to cope when she's so affectionate and he knows it can't last. 

    _She's leaving and that's that,_ he sighs, returning her wave. _Go visit a friend when you're in port and you'll forget about her quickly enough. Amanda, maybe?_

    "Land ho!" 

    "Hey! I saw it first, Bosman!" 

    Brandon shakes himself from his thoughts, striding towards starboard and eyeing the cove that emerges out of the sunset horizon. He breathes a sigh of relief, ignores Brad's pointed look, and tells him to take in the damn sails.

    They sail into port under cover of night, when the shore is speckled with Luxlights and the raucous hollering of drunks can be heard from the _Rufus_. Brandon always struggles to rein in his crew's anticipation when they arrive at a port, and this docking is more difficult than some others; he has to threaten some of them with bodily harm to get them to stand still long enough to allocate port time. Having Lailia in close quarters must have riled some of them up. He has a feeling the sex workers of the Cove will be pleased with the temporary surge in business from his concupiscent crew.

    Lailia seems almost... averse, however, to leaving the _Jolly Rufus._ Her farewells to Kyle and Huber are touching, and when she finally joins him at the gangplank it is with an uncharacteristic drag in her step.

    Brandon smiles awkwardly. "Not looking forward to going back to your fancy privileged life, are you? Damn. You can always stay."

    The words slip out without his conscious agreement, but Brandon finds himself unwilling to take them back. _Maybe I'm just clinging to that little bit of nothing._

    Lailia pulls a troubled smile. "You wish, Jones," she teases, and part of him wants nothing more than to say _yes, I do,_ but instead what comes out is a scoff and a pathetic "You _wish_ that I wish," and he scurries down the gangplank without another word.

    She lingers only briefly before following.

    While the rest of his crew disperse to the various taverns in the area, Brandon leads Lailia to an inconspicuous shack tucked away from the strips of Luxlanterns hanging across the streets like pearl necklaces. The light of a single Luxlantern glimmers from behind a dark windowshade, and the door bears no distinctive marks.

    "Where the hell are we?" asks Lailia. Brandon raps his pattern on the door and receives a flicker of the light in turn; he opens the door and ushers her in.

    Daniel Bloodworth pores over a tattered map in his "office" of sorts, stringy hair falling out of its tie and around his face. He straightens to his full height, nearly bumping his head against the ceiling as he greets them. "Ah, Jones. I was hoping you'd come in tonight."

    "You hoped right." Brandon skips the formalities -- no need with them, not after so long -- and pulls from his belt the Solsong, laying it across the table. Even in her sheath, the sword glows with a faint golden light.

    Blood whistles. "You actually managed it."

    "Of course."

    "Not without fucking it up," mutters Lailia under her breath, nudging him with an elbow. Blood takes notice of her for the first time, which is typical of him.

    "Oh. Who's this?"

    "A friend," says Brandon cryptically, though he knows there is no keeping secrets from Blood. For now, though, he presses on. "Look, is that up to your client's standards? Do you need to verify it?"

    "Of course not, it's legitimate. I wouldn't have sent you after something that wasn't." Blood takes the sword --  _sad to see you go, darling_  -- into his safe and comes back with a bag of clinking Luxim and a rolled-up parchment. "Here's your gold, and the promissory for the supplies, like I promised. Oh, and if you're up for another job, I've got one."

    "I think we'll be taking a break for now, but thanks, Blood," Brandon says. He opens the bag of Luxim, scoops out enough for a couple of mugs of ale, and hands the rest to a stunned Lailia. "Here. This will pay for a carriage ride back to your home, and I hope it makes up for all the trouble I caused you."

    "What - no, I don't want your money!" She tries to push it away as Brandon forces the bag into her hands. "This might have been a pain in the ass, but it wasn't your fault."

    "It absolutely was, just take the money."

    "I don't need it!"

    "I want you to have it." Brandon folds her hands around it and holds them tightly. "There's an inn on the north side called The Queen's Respite. Stay there tonight, tell them Finn sent you, and in the morning the innkeeper will help you get out of here." He stubbornly refuses to recognize what looks like heartache in her eyes. "Just... stay safe, okay? Pick better dance partners."

    The joke falls flat as Lailia stares at him. "I'll try." She gets up on her tiptoes and presses the softest kiss imaginable to Brandon's mouth.

    "Thanks for the adventure, Jones," she says softly, those blue eyes a swirling whirlpool of emotions. Then she is gone before Brandon can even consider the pros and cons of keeping her.

    He stares into the reality of her absence, feeling it somewhere deep inside him, as though someone had just plugged up a leak he was all-too-willing to let sink him.

    "So what's the story behind that one?" asks Blood.

    "Oh, boy. Just wait."

* * *

 

    An hour has passed by the time Brandon escapes Blood's well-meaning interrogation to drown his sorrows in ale. He makes his way to one of the nicer taverns in the port, Bacchic Paradise, and settles himself permanently in the back, ready to lose himself in the slide of alcohol down his throat and the rowdy shanties of the patrons.

    When the ruckus begins out on the street, they assume it is nothing more than a typical drunken scuffle. Brandon's attention is piqued, though, when the voices mention soldiers, and then -

    "Brandon!" The door slams open and it's Lailia, her hair a windswept tangle about her, eyes wild as they sweep the room. Brandon is already halfway out of his chair when she spots him, wound up tight with _is she okay?_ and i'd _already forgotten how beautiful she is_ and _what's going on?_ and _she came back to me._

    She flies to him and nearly trips into his arms. "Run! You and your crew have to get out of here," she insists, gaze flicking back to the door.

    "Why? Lailia, what's wrong?"

    "Just go before they kill you!"

    Brandon stiffens. There is always someone out to kill him, especially in this town, but he takes no chances. A sharp look to the bartender and a terse word have the man scrambling to call for an alarm. Ringing the church's bells in a certain pattern will convoke his men back to the _Jolly Rufus_. They know it as a serious summons; they only use it in emergencies, and ignoring it is likely to get one left behind onshore.

    He turns back to a desperate Lailia, already pulling him towards the back door. "Alright, calm down. What's this about? Did you run into trouble?"

    A complex, but clearly guilty series of emotions crosses her face. "No, well, sort of. I -"

    "Stop!"

    The bar door flies open and stampeding in are soldiers of a noble's personal army, eyes locked on them. Someone screams as a shot is fired, shattering glasses behind the bar, and the building explodes into chaos. Lailia drags him out the kitchen door without another word, and then she is the one leading him towards escape.

    They don't get far. The alley that the door opens to is quickly capped on both ends by their pursuers, yellow and blue uniforms glaring in the low light. Brandon steps in front of Lailia, drawing his sword. _What are they even doing here?_

    "I swear, you just love to get in trouble, don't you?" he murmurs to her. Lailia winces, expression twisted in pain.

    "Just... look -"

    "Finn Bloodletter!" One of the men steps forward, rapier pointed at them. "Amongst your many heinous crimes, you are charged with the abduction of Lord Ian, son of Duke Hinck. Lower your weapon, release whatever nefarious magic you hold over him, and surrender your life."

    Brandon blinks at her. "What?"

    "Yeah, they think the only way I would like you is if you used some weird magic on me," Lailia snorts.

    "No, I mean, what the fuck?" One of the guards takes a step forward and Brandon flourishes his sword, though his gaze never leaves Lailia. _It would fucking figure, wouldn't it?_ "I knew you were some noble lady, but you're telling me you're Ian Hinck? You've been missing for like, three years!"

    "Stop calling me that!" Lailia snaps, all fire and fury in the yellow Luxlight, and Brandon's voice dies in his throat. "Look, he's not at fault here, you can let him go."

    "My Lord, we cannot simply -"

    "He didn't abduct me!"

    "I mean, I sort of did," mumbles Brandon, dumbstruck. Lailia gives him an exasperated glare as the guards bristle.

    "Not three years ago, idiot," she complains. "Look, here's my ultimatum. I'll go back home if you let him and his crew go."

    It is clearly hard for her to get the words out, but she stands tall - no longer behind him, but beside. Brandon stares at her and feels his heart thump dangerously hard in his chest, adrenaline and adoration both. _She'd give up her freedom for me? Not gonna happen._

    He steps behind her to whisper in her ear, amused by her shiver even in this precarious situation. "Prepare to run, darling."

    "Brandon - "

    "He's planning something! Don't let them get away!" one of the men shouts, whipping out a pistol, its barrel gleaming with Lux, and Brandon throws Huber's other grenade at them, and something shoves him to the ground and the explosion rings too-loud in his ears and shakes the very galaxy around him.

    When he comes to his senses, Lailia is sprawled near him, shaking him urgently. "Go, Jones, run! They won't hurt me, not anymore," she says, and now he sees the blood, staining her borrowed shirt red at the shoulder. _Did she... push me out of the way?_

    "You're dumber than I thought if you think that's going to happen," he spits, pushing himself to his feet. Lailia stares up at him, one hand stemming the bleeding at her shoulder. Brandon takes a stand over her, swinging at anyone who comes near with the ferocity of a wolf defending its pack. His grenade took out half the crew, but those who are left slowly encircle the two of them until even Brandon can see no easy way out of this.

    "My Lord, please, call this charade off and let us attend to you!"

    "Fuck off," Lailia says succinctly. Brandon laughs. "You wanna do me some good, just let me leave. I don't suppose you have any more fancy grenades, huh?"

    "Unfortunately not."

    "I do!" A voice hollers gleefully, and Brandon turns just in time to know to cover Lailia from the shrapnel as an unexpected Huber lobs a Luxgrenade towards the crowd. The air itself shimmers with heat as a large chunk of the opposite wall is taken out. Brandon uses the opportunity to urge a pale-faced Lailia towards their rescuers, a band of crew members who must have been heading back to the ship.

    She stumbles into Huber's arms and he steadies her tightly, worry etched onto his face. "Get her back to the ship," Brandon orders, and Lailia turns to him.

    "What are you going to do?" she asks. Brandon looks at her, at the pain and defiance and fear in her eyes, and wipes a streak of blood from her cheek. 

   _I'm going to make sure they don't bother you ever again, darling._

    "Just go," he murmurs. Huber nudges her, babbling about the medical attention that she needs and sweeping her along towards the docks. Brandon watches them go, then turns back to the panicked remnants of the soldiers, the tip of his sword dragging across the ground.

    "Alright, gentleman, let's make a deal..."

* * *

 

     The _Jolly Rufus_ is much more solemn, yet no less prepared to set off when Brandon returns to it. Brad had even made sure to collect the supplies Blood had set aside for them in a warehouse, as he always did when they returned from a job for him. Brandon gives the order to set sail and heads for the sick bay.

    The surgeon is there with an unconscious, yet thankfully alive Lailia. "Had to put her out for the pain, but I got the damn thing out, thank the Goddess. She'll come to tomorrow, probably."

    Brandon stares at her peaceful expression and thinks, _well, if this is the will of the Goddess, then who am I to disagree?_

    He waits.

    He's not sure when he drifts off at her side, but a soft groan awakens him, and Brandon sits up to see Lailia doing the same. The scratchy linens pool around her waist and her shoulder is bound, and when she sees him a breath escapes her. "Hey."

    "Hey."

    Brandon has so many questions, so many praises for her, and yet the first thing to come out of his mouth is, "That was really dumb, you know."

    She starts. "Oh, yeah? Would you rather I let you get shot?"

    "If it means you didn't get shot, then yes," murmurs Brandon, and this time he kisses her.

    Lailia smiles and her lips are intoxicating and _I am so glad I did this, I'm_ never _not doing this ever again,_ thinks Brandon, sighing against her. He pulls away and levels a faux glare at her. "You're hurt, stop tempting me."

    "Who, me? I was just minding my own business when you wandered into my life. If anything, you're the troublemaker, Mr. Bloodletter."

    "About that..."

    She frowns, reading his mind. "Yeah, they were serious. Ian Hinck is...I who I used to be, anyway. I put that life behind me a long time ago."

    "Why?"

    "If you were me, would you want to be stuck playing the role of some stuck-up rich man?"

    Brandon winces. "Yeah, no. That... I get it. Truly, I do. But why did you say you would go back?"

    Lailia glares at him and presses their lips together forcefully, until Brandon is almost starved of breath. "You idiot," she mumbles. "I told you before. I needed you and your crew to get away safely."

    "But -"

    "If you ask me why, Brandon Jones, I will stop kissing you."    

    He laughs, heart fluttering like the beat of a gull's wings upon the breeze. "Well, you shouldn't have to worry about them anymore. I think the one I left alive will pass along the right message. So I'm guessing you don't have any plans now, huh?"

    "Hmm, I think I'll stick around for a while, if you'll have me, Captain."

    "Of course I will, Lailia. Can I still call you that?"

    "Please do."

    


End file.
